Rebirth
by Promathia
Summary: Life is cruel to a young Tarutaru mage who meets her end in Valkurm Dunes. When a group of noble heroes revive her, however, what will be the consequences...?
1. Death and New Life

Hello, it's me, Abbot Song. This is my first attempt at Final Fantasy XI fanfiction, so be sure to tell me if you enjoy it. Hopefully, this will turn into a nice series, but with the end of the school year arriving soon, I might not have more time for updates until summer. Wow, I'm probably getting really ahead of myself. Anyways, I don't own Square Enix, Final Fantasy XI, PlayOnline, or anything related to any of those aforementioned things at all. Just thought I should add that. Anyways, I hope you enjoy the story.

* * *

The pain was more intense now, stabbing at every inch of her crumpled body. The little Tarutaru gasped, desperate for release from the pain. Open wounds were littered across her skin, and blood flowed freely from them, leaving crimson rivulets in the sand. Her inhalation was responded with a feeble cough as sand filled her lungs. Weakly she attempted to pull herself back onto her feet, but her fingers were unwilling. She remained slumped across the sand, completely helpless and completely vulnerable. Yet, she was not alone.

Above her, the skeleton laughed. Its maniacal chuckles echoed, as if coming from some distant plane. The laughter stung the Tarutaru's wounds more deeply than the sand ever could. Tears, brought along by the pain and shock, began to drip onto the sand. She began to wriggle, attempting to move away from the awful laughter and that bloodstained scythe, but she could not. Her limbs were burdened too heavily by the pain, and refused to cooperate, no matter how fervently she wished they would. A peculiar sound left her throat; a gurgling sound, somewhere between a choked sob and a desperate scream for help. This only incited greater sick pleasure in the skeleton, who continued laughing.

Words filled her ears, whispered, hushed words, like secrets spewed from a willing mouth. The Tarutaru could not understand where the words were coming from; was the skeleton speaking? Was her mind playing tricks on her? She quickly realized that the words could not be coming from the skeleton, for they did not sound hostile, nor did they echo. Trusting her instinct, she believed that her mind was not playing tricks on her. Someone was talking to her, telling her something... She couldn't discern what...

The skeleton let out another of its horrible howls and swung its scythe downwards. The curved blade sliced through her shoulder, tearing open a fresh cut in her robe and causing blood to immediately pool from the wound. The Tarutaru screamed again, hoping someone would hear, someone would come to her aid, before she... before she...

Her thought was lost upon her as she realized the words were more defined now. For some reason, they sounded familiar, as if she had heard them before, but she knew that no words like these had ever graced her ears before. They were soft, and serene, and so gentle... Still vague, still hushed, but she could make them out...

_My child... Close your eyes... Do not be afraid..._

The pain seemed to lessen upon this recognition, and the Tarutaru realized that it was the words which had dulled the throbbing and released the pain from her. Despite this, the tears began to swell, as if some final realization were coming soon...

Her state of serenity was shattered by the returned laughter of the skeleton, which swung its scythe down yet again. This time, it impaled her left palm, digging deep into the sand beneath it. The Tarutaru let out a scream that shattered the otherwise peaceful night, seeming to travel far off into space...

The words were no longer hushed, now. They flowed into her ears freely, just as clear and constant as the tears that poured from her own eyes, forming soft puddles in the sand...

_Child... Do not be afraid... Come back to me..._

The words were guiding, benevolent, comforting, soothing. The pain began to dull, the tears began to flow more freely, but no more screams left the Tarutaru's throat. She felt the heart that pumped so frantically within her begin to slow to a leisurely pace, as if she were not being cut to ribbons by a horrible wraith but rather walking along the pond's edge back in Windurst, tossing stones, watching the ripples move so silent and sleek across the water's glassy surface...

The skeleton ceased its laughing, and raised it scythe above its head with both hands, preparing for the finishing blow. The Tarutaru, meanwhile, found that tears no longer poured from her eyes, and began taking her last breath. She closed her eyes, just as the words instructed her too.

The skeleton swung its cruel weapon downwards. The scythe hissed through the air, droplets of blood flinging from its shining surface to be swallowed in the moonlit darkness. The Tarutaru took one final breath.

The scythe connected in the center of the Tarutaru's chest, piercing through her clothing as if it were paper, impaling her heart. The Tarutaru let out a forced gasp as all air left her lungs. A weak smile spread across her face in the last seconds...

_Come to me, child..._

All was at peace.

* * *

"Alectus, did you hear that?"

The blond Elvaan's ears perked up instinctively, and her hands fell upon the hilt of the sword that hung from her belt. She gazed over at her partner, a burly Galka, who turned and stared off in the direction of the noise.

"Yes, Cressida..."

The Galka instinctively drew his own weapon, a bulky claymore he had crafted himself. He quickly glanced over at the Elvaan, who bore a look of worry upon her otherwise gentle face.

"Thataru was a call for help! Oh, stars above, we have to help them!"

Beneath them, a small Tarutaru squeaked in fright.

"Ikudo-Makudo is right, Alectus. We have to help them."

It was a command, not a request. Alectus did not care, even though he was the leader. That was what his own heart was telling him to do, and before he could respond to Cressida's demand, he found himself tearing across the sand as fast as his legs could carry him. Cressida smiled to herself, and followed after him, each footfall sending clouds of sand into the air. The Tarutaru let out a squeal and followed shortly after, white robes billowing in the soft night air.

Across the dunes they dashed, past hordes of crabs and bouncing leeches, past inattentive ghosts and wandering goblins. The Galka led, the Elvaan followed behind, and the Tarutaru tailed them both. That was how it had always been: Alectus, the firm and unwavering leader; Cressida, the insightful and perceptive one; and Ikudo-Makudo, the passionate and emotional tag-along. They had been travelling together for some months now, hunting monsters to hone their skills and making a profit along the way, while ocassionally helping out their fellow citizens in need.

That was what they were doing now, heeding the desperate cries of some unseen victim. Alectus immediately figured it must have been another hapless wanderer who was wandering in the wrong place at the wrong time; in Valkurm, that was what the problem usually was. Cressida believed it was probably someone who was in their right mind, but perhaps had stumbled, for whatever reason, and fallen headfirst into a dire situation. Ikudo-Makudo merely saw it as someone in need that required the assistance of mighty warriors such as themselves.

"There it is!"

Ikudo-Makudo pointed towards a vague form in the distance. It appeared to be the fallen body of a rather small individual; Alectus immediately realized it had to be a Tarutaru, and sadness stabbed at his heart. He had always found it so unthinkably tragic when the Tarutarus, so in love with life, met their demises at the hands of...

The enemy fell into view. It was a ghoul, nothing special, clutching a scythe that, even at a distance, was visibly slathered in blood. Alectus gulped as he realized it was the blood of the fallen Tarutaru... The blood of the one who had cried for help. Seconds after this realization, Ikudo-Makudo let out a startled gasp, undoubtedly dawning upon this same realization.

"You killed a Tarutaru! Now, feel the wrath of my magic, you heinous fiend!"

Ikudo-Makudo yanked his staff from his belt and pointed it threateningly at the ghoul, who turned to face him, jaws creaking, laughter pouring like foul water from its fleshless throat. As it approached, Alectus and Cressida wordlessly approached, their own swords in hand. Ikudo-Makudo whispered the words of a white magic spell and watched in righteous delight as white-hot light scalded the undead creature. It let out a howl of such indescribable agony the young Tarutaru was forced to clamp his hands over his ears, and suddenly, the creature was gone, nothing as evidence of its existence.

None of the three so much as spoke as Alectus knelt to examine the fallen Tarutaru. She was a small thing, a black mage by the looks of her. She was of a tan complexion and a slim physique, with soft red hair that was drenched in sweat. Her lifeless eyes were of a deep shade of green, the color of emeralds suspended in darkness. Surrounding her body were various puddles, most of them being the testaments of the many wounds that lined her flesh. The puddles near her face, however, appeared to be of something much clearer with blood. Cressida realized that they were puddles from tears, and gasped. Alectus swallowed back his emotions and continued to inspect her, seeing if there was any evidence that she was still alive.

The ghoul had bloodied her up very badly. Deep stab wounds were visible everywhere, as were long, jagged cuts that had severed the threads of her robes and barely graced the surface of her flesh. There were some scratch marks on her forehead, as if the ghoul had resorted to bare-fisted combat. Alectus finally found his proof as his eyes fell upon the blood-soaked wound in her chest, directly through her heart. There was no doubt that she was no longer alive. Tears brimmed in his eyelids, but he swiped them away before the others could see, and stood up.

"She's dead."

Cressida nodded, gulping. Ikudo-Makudo broke into sobs, falling to his knees, burying his head in his hands, dramatic as always. Neither Cressida nor Alectus interfered; they knew their white mage companion felt deeply towards his kindred, and they knew how much this poor Tarutaru's death meant to him.

As Ikudo-Makudo rose to his feet, wiping his eyes, Alectus dawned upon something he had foolishly forgotten before. The spellbook that he had bought for Ikudo-Makudo flashed in his mind, the spellbook he had hoped would never be used, and thus far, had never been used. He quickly turned to Ikudo-Makduo, eyes wide, hope swelling within him.

"Ikudo-Makudo... Do you still remember the spell from that tome I bought you in Windurst?"

"What tome?"

Ikudo-Makudo asked this, and almost immediately remembered what the Galka meant.

"The tome! The tome for the spell, Raise! The tome you hoped we would never use!"

Ikudo-Makudo danced with glee.

"It will save her, thataru it will!"

No one noticed the small smile upon the Tarutaru's face, that she had embraced her own death. Alectus was too filled with gladness, Cressida too overwhelmed with relief, Ikudo-Makudo too concentrated on casting the spell that would restore the life to this poor victim of fate.

Light fell from the heavens as Ikudo-Makudo finished his spell. Cressida and Alectus watched on in wonder as many of the Tarutaru's wounds began to heal, most noticeably the deep gash in her chest that had taken her life from her. As her skin slowly stitched itself back together, the victim's eyes fluttered, breath filled her lungs, and the light pulled her back onto her feet. The light retreated to the heavens from whence it had sprung and the three stared in wonder at the revived Tarutaru before them, who stood, silent.

"It worked!"

Ikudo-Makudo shouted this happily, thanking Altana for her good graces. Cressida gazed over at Alectus, sighing with relief; Alectus, in response, smiled warmly. The Tarutaru, meanwhile, fumbled weakly for something to say, let out a gasp, and toppled to ground, eyes shut.


	2. Whispered is the Name, Seiruru

Hey! It's me again, Abbot Song, with a new chapter for Rebirth (obviously). I hope you enjoyed the first part as much as I enjoyed writing it. I'm glad I was able to finish this second part before the end of school; I didn't want to leave you guys hanging for a another week and a half. Anyways, this chapter will reveal a bit more... Just know I don't own Square Enix, Final Fantasy XI, or PlayOnline, or anything related to any of those things, despite the fact that I wish I did -- Final Fantasy XI is such an awesome game. Anyways, enough with my blabbering and on with chapter two!

_

* * *

Fading darkness... Endless light..._

There was a grand supernova of light behind the shut eyelids of the young Tarutaru. Upon this brilliant burst of light, the Tarutaru bolted upright, terrified. Terror seized her as she stared around wildly, frantically, as if looking for something forever lost upon her. Her lips fumbled for words to say; her heart beat faster with each passing second. Her emerald eyes glimmered darkly as despair overcame her. Where was she? How did she get here? A wool blanket was wrapped around her legs, and a soft chocobo-feather pillow lay where her head had once rested. Above her was a cracked white ceiling, and all around her were enclosing white walls she had never seen before. A wooden desk sat beside her bed, on which rested an empty bowl and a dirtied spoon. There was a wooden door at the other side of the room, which seemed so very distant to her...

Then it hit her -- a thousand sensations, all at once. She felt the hot wetness in her hair, the stagnant sweat droplets on her skin, and the drenched clothing that stuck to and suffocated her. She felt a persistent dryness in her eyes which stung her whenever she blinked, and felt an awful taste upon her tongue, as if dust had collected inside her mouth. Her wet locks of pepper-red hair tickled her forehead and behind her ears. The pain, though not intense, seemed to pulsate with the rhythm of her heart, causing her no relief. These sensations bombarded her, and, overwhelmed, she collapsed against the pillow.

The final sensation dawned upon her at that moment. It was a niggling, skin-crawling sensation that had enveloped her entire body, causing her to shake uncontrollably. It felt as if a thousand tiny mites were crawling beneath her skin... Suddenly horrified by this startling new feeling, the Tarutaru let out a scream and fell off the bed, rolling on the floor, scratching herself frantically to rid herself of the mites. She did not even care to realize that the robes had been removed and were replaced with simple linen garments she had never seen before. She raked wet nails across her forehead and down her arms, scratching her knees and neck, screaming in anguish. She did not think anyone would hear her in this white-walled prison she did not recognize.

Pain rocketed throughout her body as her nails were dragged across her skin; intense pain which overshadowed that of the skin-crawling sensation of mites. It blasted at every muscle and joint, and without thinking, the Tarutaru locked up and began to shake, as if gripped by some greater force. Her vision began to blur; the colors began to warp and fade... Her screams sounded less loud, dulled by the throbbing and uninvited pain...

She did not notice the wooden door swing open, nor did she hear the gasps of her onlookers. She did vaguely realize that hands were gripping her and lifting her from off the ground; she was unable to stop them, for her joints were still unwilling. They lay her down on the bed and removed the sweat-soaked blanket. She lay there, unable to move, pain roaring through her body like a wildfire. She heard murmuring from somewhere, sounding as if it were off in the distance...

Then, suddenly, the pain left her. The pressure that locked all of her joints and freezed all of her muscles vanished in an instant, leaving her gasping. The sensation of the mites was gone, and she felt a new, moist stinging all across her body in its place. Her vision cleared and her hearing was restored. She realized that the people in the room were talking amongst themselves and were not including her in the conversation; they were speaking about her, and expecting no response... as if she were some kind of animal.

"She looks awful, Kalista. Where in the name of Altana did all those cuts come from? She looks like she got mugged by bandits!"

"Well, judging from her fingernails... I'd say they were self-inflicted."

At this statement, the Tarutaru stared at her hands. Her fingernails were each tipped with crimson, as if she were fingerpainting a picture with all red paints. She knew that the thick red liquid upon them, however, was not paint.

"What do you think happened?"

"I... have no idea, Cressida. Resurrection is not meant to be a particularly dangerous experience; you're only supposed to be revived and stay that way. The fact that she fainted afterwards is not that uncommon... but the fact that she has spent the past three days almost completely immobile is. And this only furthers the peculiarity of this situation. Where did you say you found her?"

"By the cliffs in eastern Valkurm. She was... killed by a ghoul."

Killed. The word stung at the Tarutaru's ears. Killed. Killed? She was... dead? How was she here? Sudden images of the bursting light and the fading dark, all echoed by the agonizing pain...

"Luckily Ikudo-Makudo was able to resurrect her in time. We were afraid she would be another poor casualty of the beastmen..."

Resurrection. She had been revived. For some reason unknown to her, this word brought no comfort to her ears. In fact... it only brought enmity. This new pain, the hysteria of these new moments, had been brought along by that accursed word, she was sure of it. Something... Something was wrong, very wrong, like one of the people had said. This was not normal.

"I'll go tell Ikudo and Alectus. Kalista, please tend to her wounds, and fetch some warm soup. Also, get a change of sheets and some new clothes; she looks positively dreadful."

There was a shuffling of feet, and the voices vanished.

The Tarutaru was left staring at the cracked white ceiling, completely lost, each second lasting an eternity in her mind's eye. The world around her spiraled in her vision. Resurrect. Killed. Resurrect. Killed. For some reason, neither seemed more comforting nor more horrifying than the other; it was as if the solemnity and intensity of both words had disappeared from her understanding. What was life if everything revolved around death? What was resurrection if life were to revolve solely around death? What was the point of returning to a life only to die? Everyone had a day to die.

Had it been hers?

"Oh, woe is me! She looks positively awful-wawful!"

There was the sudden return of the footfalls and she knew the people had returned. She could hear something vaguely familiar in the voice that had spoken, as if she had heard someone like it before...

As if to complement this sudden realization, comfort arrived. Warm water pressed against the wounds, chasing away the pain they exposed. Hot liquid poured down her willing throat, purging her mouth of its acrid taste and soothing her sore throat. A cold towel was draped across her sweat-streaked forehead, and her drenched locks were washed in a basin of water and dried with a towel. After clean bandages were wrapped around her wounds, her wet linen garments were exchanged with fresh, dry cotton ones. There were words spoken all around her, but none that made her feel vulnerable or afraid. None of them were discernible; her mind was too centered on the pain that was slowly losing its grip upon her system. By its completion, she felt relieved beyond anything she had ever felt, and began to doze off.

* * *

"I wonder what her name is."

Alectus glanced over at Cressida, somewhat concerned, his thick brow furrowed in deep thought.

"I just realized... We've done so much for her, and we don't even know her name."

Kalista ran a hand through her silver locks, sighing. The Elvaan healer glanced over at her sister and the Galka and quietly said:

"She speaks softly in her sleep. Just one word, and only one word. I didn't think it meant anything until I realized it was a name."

"Do you think it's hers?"

Cressida and Alectus said this in unison, leaning forward.

"I suspect so. But I can't prove anything. She won't talk to us. She doesn't have the strength."

"What is the word?"

The two were persistent in learning this word, the word Kalista had heard, the word the poor Tarutaru spoke in her sleep.

Kalista opened her mouth to speak. It was at this moment that the Tarutaru's lips parted slightly, and a single word was whispered into the air:

"Seiruru..."


	3. Under the Moonlight

Hey, it's me again. Wow, I never expected to get this many updates in such short a time; I expected, with exams and all, to not have another chance to work on this until after school was over. I guess I was wrong. Anyways, a lot happens in this next chapter, but I won't tell you exactly what, of course. As always, I don't own Square Enix, Final Fantasy XI, or PlayOnline, or anything that has to do (legally) with Final Fantasy at all. Well, without further ado, here's chapter three of Rebirth. :)

* * *

It was dark the next time Seiruru awoke. A cool wind enwrapped her blanketed body, and she felt, for a moment, at peace. Her eyes were closed, and the pace of her heart rhythmic and comforting. Beneath the wool blanket, she felt warm and secure, protected against the winds and whatever else life could throw at her.

And then it hit her. Life.

She was supposed to be dead.

This caused deep distress within Seiruru's mind, and all thoughts of peace and serenity were vanquished in its presence. Why was she alive? It made no sense to her; not only did it seem discomforting that she was still living, but it felt _wrong_. It was as if she knew she should be dead, and life would never change that. She even went so far as to reason that she would probably feel more comfort, internally at least, if she were not alive. That thought chilled her to the core of her very bones, and made her shiver, even though she was wrapped in a warm blanket.

_Why... Why did they revive me?_

She remembered the four distinct voices, which made themselves known to her at various times throughout the day. One was a soft, gentle soprano, hardly above a whisper, that hardly comforted her despite its genuine compassion. Another was small and squeaky, obviously of one her kin, which did nothing but annoy her. The third was deep and booming, and demanded respect; this one scared her above all other things. The final was calm and rational in all situations; it was a voice of reason that, for some reason, always reminded her of the pain she had faced and the turmoil she was in, regardless of the words it spoke.

She had begun to envision the bearers of these voices. She envisioned the gentle-voiced one to be a tall, slender woman, constantly quivering with fright, though she tried to hide it. She saw her with pale skin and watery blue eyes that were probably always brimming with tears. She envisioned the bearer of the annoying voice to be a portly, fat-lipped prig decked in luxurious silks stained with remnants of fine food and drink, with bits of meals past smeared all over his detestable face. She saw the bearer of the frightening voice to be a hulking creature, probably a Galka, clad in enormous armor and bearing a grin of fangs, and with fire in its eyes. She envisioned the bearer of the reasonable, even voice to be a thin woman, her hair greying with age, with cold, merciless eyes and a love for all things agonizing. She could even picture the glimmer of sick delight in her eyes as she writhed about helplessly on the bed, the blanket strangling her, desperate for the pain to stop...

It was true. Whenever the voices appeared, Seiruru, for one reason or another, could not see who bore them. It was because whenever the voices were in the room, she was gripped in another of her violent fits, in which she would experience blinding pain. She would be pushed through periods of various sorts of agony before her joints would all lock up, and she would be unable to move. Afterwards, she would pass out for an extended period of time, only to awaken to a brief period of peace until she was seized by the relentless pain.

Which was where she was now. She was waiting, just waiting, for the pain to return.

It was in these periods of peace that Seiruru did most of her thinking. She realized that she knew few things besides this unfriendly white room, the four voices, and the fact that she was named Seiruru and she was in constant pain. She had brief glimpses of a prior life, but all solid memories evaded her. What she felt was even stranger than that fact was that she did not even _care_ that she could not remember her past; it was as if that was completely natural. Of the world she lived in, she remembered very few things, only basic ones. She knew there were five races, that she lived in a vast world, and that there was such a thing as magic and resurrection. Besides that, she knew nothing.

In the hours she was free of the pain, Seiruru would harshly battle her unwilling mind to pry more memories from the abyss into which they had vanished. These battles were often unsuccessful and Seiruru realized that the more times she fought to regain her memories, the less frequently she did remember them. She tried anyway, unwilling to give up the fight for its dire cost, and felt as if she would never remember anything of what used to be.

Besides her basic knowledge of the world and her situation, Seiruru knew one other thing. It was a very vague thing, but it was constantly surfacing in her thoughts. It was a light.

It was a very strange light, a light that seemed to change every time she saw it. Oddly enough, she knew that every time she saw the light, it was the same light, and not something new. It was as if the light were actually a being, a being that was intimately linked with her. The light did not comfort her; she felt, however, that it had once comforted her, but these memories of the light being comforting were gone from her mind. Instead, the light made her feel sorrowful, as if it were beckoning her to do something that she could not, or it was the example of something she could never hope to become. At least not in her current state. Seeing the light made her feel sad, and made the peace she felt all the more meaningful. It also meant that, no matter what, the pain would return.

Just remembering the pain made Seiruru feel a stab of anxiety at her muscles. She had rationalized that these bouts of pain would not leave her until some requirement had been fulfilled, or she became something she was not at the moment. She saw the pain as a ravenous demon, a possessive creature that would not release her from its bondage until she gave into its demands. She wished desperately that her fits would leave her, but these wishes were in vain; they always returned. Always.

She saw the pain as the source of her amnesia, and the source of her worry. When she was seized in its foul clutches, her memories vanished, and every fiber of her body became engulfed in it; she knew nothing, felt nothing, and recognized nothing but that seemingly endless agony. Everything else was seen automatically as obsolete. The pain caused her to experience various things; sometimes, she felt as if something were digging at her heart. At others, she felt as if tiny bugs were crawling up and down the lengths of her skin, biting whenever they pleased. Sometimes she thought there were things in her hair, or on her eyelids, or inside her nose and mouth. She so frequently scratched at the various parts of her body that her fingernails had become frayed and her body burdened by the bandages.

Whenever she tried to think of a source of the pain, her mind always settled on the mournful light, for some reason she could not explain.

Seiruru found that a strange aspect of her pain was that she never cried. Never had she felt tears sting at her eyes, no matter how intense the pain was, no matter how fervently she wished it would go. It was as if her experiences had robbed her of the ability to cry, and that she was too hard to feel the need to cry anymore. This only intensified her feeling of loneliness and depression.

Seiruru sat up, looking around. The room was empty. It was nighttime, and moonlight filtered in through an open window. Seiruru tried to see out the window, but she could not. The bed was positioned in such a way that she could see the outer rim of the night sky, but nothing beyond that. Annoyed, she fumbled for the edge of the bed, and slid silently onto the floor, her feet touching the cold tiles that covered the ground. She did not even take the time to realize that it had been the first time out of the bed since her arrival in the cold white room, or her first time walking.

She strode slowly over the window, her cotton robe swishing noiselessly around her ankles. Her vision was a bit blurred, and she reached out her arms to keep herself steady. She stared at the window unwaveringly, and kept herself balanced, firmly set on her destination. She did not pay attention to the fact that she was shivering, nor that the muscles in her feet began to tense up each time they touched the floor.

She stopped, finally at the windowsill, breathing hard and staring down. Beneath her, she could see the tops of houses, not too far away. She reasoned that she was only in a second story room. Looking up, she saw the full moon, shining down on her unceasingly. Staring at it made her feel a bit at peace, and so she remained looking at it, overwhelmed by the sense it provided her, no matter how brief it was.

She finally pulled her eyes from the moon and stared back down at the houses. Off in the distance, she could hear the gentle lapping of waves against the shore, and she reasoned she must be in some kind of port town. The name of any port town evaded her. She stared back down at the houses and was suddenly gripped by the urge to explore the house she was in. After all, she knew nothing but this solitary white room. She turned away from the window and began to walk towards the door.

By the third step, the pain in her legs had spread to her lower body, and Seiruru knew a fit was about to grip her. In horror, she realized that at this hour, no one in the house would hear her. She would have to face the pain alone. The thought of screaming in this white-walled prison, overcome with pain, rolling on the floor in desperation, planted hysteria in her brain. With a horrified gasp and stumbled backwards; the pain rocketed up through her legs and shot at her shoulders and arms. A soft yell loosed from her throat as she fell back against the wall, sliding to the ground, discomforted.

The pain slowly consumed her entire body, working its way through every sinew, every fiber, until it engulfed her entirely. It throbbed and pulsated and grew stronger with each passing moment. Seiruru found that it was hard to breathe and that every breath caused her vision to fog by a large degree, to the extent that she knew she would be unable to see in only a few moments. Her heart rate picked up, but did nothing to help her. Sweat drops began to bead at her temples despite the fact that she was not in a hot environment, and had no need to sweat. She felt her hands moisten, and she clasped them to her chest, desperate to quell the pain she knew would soon cause her to scream.

It was too late. A horrified scream escaped her lips and she flopped over onto her stomach, the pain too much to bear now. The pain was more intense this time than she had ever felt before; it was as if it were ripping apart her insides, and feasting upon her heart. She clawed desperately at the tiles, trying to pull herself back to her feet. She tried to look around, to see her surroundings, but her eyes were clouded...

She suddenly realized the soft moonlight that upon her. Clawing at the ground, she realized that this entire situation -- trying to regain herself under the light of the moon -- did not seem so unfamiliar. It almost felt... as if it had happened before. She felt so confident in this thought that she felt certain it was reminiscent of a previous event in her life. As she screamed, she suddenly heard laughter, an echoing laughter she hoped would never haunt her again...

_The creature stood before her, scythe raised, its head tossed back. Its fleshless jaws loosed an unearthly howl, comprised of echoes and yells, that made her skin crawl. It was laughing... laughing at her._

The ghoul.

The ghoul that had killed her.

The entire event replayed slowly, silently, in her mind. She saw herself walking silently across the dunes, wand at the ready, constantly glancing around. She saw the ghoul come up from behind and swing at her neck, throwing her to the ground. She saw herself screaming out in pain as the creature incessantly tore at her with its ungodly weapon, its torture device. She saw the puncture wounds on her limbs and the tears in her clothing; she saw the anguish in her face and the tears in her eyes. She remembered the pain, the pain that was so pressing, just as it was now. She saw the terror...

And she remembered the voice. The cool, soothing voice, constant in her ears, which grew stronger with every passing moment, with each new pain. The voice that had told her it would all be okay, the voice that told her to close her eyes and rejoin it...

_Seiruru..._

She heard the voice, unified with the mournful light she always saw in her dreams. This vision lasted no more than half a second, and when it ended, Seiruru knew nothing but the painless darkness of the cold, tiled floor.


End file.
